Page 48 of Kissing Potions and Elves
His tongue strokes against my own, coaxing me into surrender, and a low, helpless moan escapes my lips.
I run my hands through his hair and caress the pointed tips of his ears.
“Stars above,” he rasps. “You have no idea how sensitive those are, do you?” He growls low in arousal and lifts me effortlessly onto the wooden counter, standing between my legs.
My pulse thunders in my ears, heat spreading through every nerve-ending, leaving me dizzy and breathless with desire as he grips my hair, and angles my mouth to his, deepening our kiss.
I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m completely lost in his warmth, his touch, the feel of his strong body as it molds to mine.
He shifts closer, bumping the table and knocking over the heavy bag of flour. It hits the floor with a solid thud, exploding into the air in a cloud of white powder.
We both break away, coughing and laughing as we wave away the dust.
Lyrion’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he steps back, his dark hair and elegant clothes now covered in white.
My face feels like it’s on fire as I slide off the counter and brush the flour from my skirts. The entire table, including the joyflower jar, is completely covered in powder. Lyrion picks it up, handing it to me.
“Here,” he says, voice still a bit rough. “We should go back upstairs.” His lips quirk up at the edges. “You’ve got a baking contest to win.”
I nod. Lyrion carries the heavy bag of wheat flour for me, and we climb the cellar stairs, my heart still fluttering from our kiss. Drawing in a deep breath, I force myself to focus. I desperately want to win this contest.
If I do, I believe it will make my position atThe Enchanted Teacupeven more secure. Not that Tressa has ever threatened to let me go, but I remember how hard it was for me and Errol before I found this job. We nearly starved last winter.
When we make our way back upstairs, I glance out the café window as I mix the ingredients.
The village square is alive with festive energy. Colorful banners flutter in the breeze, and bright lanterns hang from every available post. Laughter fills the air, mingling with cheerful chatter as the villagers move amongst the various stands.
Once they’re finished baking, I carefully and meticulously frost each cupcake, ensuring every swirl is perfect, adding extra sprinkles to make them even more tempting. The scent of vanilla and sweet sugar wafts through the air, tantalizing and inviting.
When I’m done, I present them to Lyrion. “What do you think?”
“These are lovely and they smell delicious.” His eyes dart to the window and the setup for the contest outside. Several contestants have already begun arranging their offerings on the tables provided. “I’ve seen the competition and I believe you have an excellent chance of taking first prize.”
Pride swells my chest. “You think so?”
He gives me a confident nod. “Yes.”
Anticipation thrums through my veins as the judges make their way toward me. I don’t expect to get Ms. Fenwick’s vote. Her cousin is one of the contestants and she went on and on about how lovely her blissful blueberry tarts were and how relaxed and content their magic made her feel.
But perhaps I have a chance with the other four judges. Especially Mayor Finley. He looks decidedly unhappy with Rowena Alderwood’s Lemon Laughter Cakes. The judges only took a few bites, but something must have been wrong with the recipe, because they sound like a pack of braying donkeys.
“How long do you think it will last?” Whispers rise up from the crowd.
“Long enough for Rowena Alderwood to kiss first prize goodbye,” one says.
Lyrion leans close and whispers in my ear. “I think she used too much mirthroot or perhaps the wrong combination ofsnickerpetal and giggleblossom. I believe the crowd is right.” He arches a teasing brow. “She may not win the baking contest, but I think she has a fair shot at winning a ribbon in one of the livestock events.”
I snort out a laugh but quickly cover my mouth, horrified to have let out such an undignified sound. But when I glance at Lyrion, I notice the hint of a smile on his face, his eyes dancing with barely restrained amusement.
Once the effects of the laughing cakes wear off, the judges move to my display.
I’m so nervous. I’m the final contestant. After this, they’ll announce a winner.
Mayor Finley’s fox ears flick forward in attention, his nostrils flaring as he studies my table. “Well, well, what have we here? These smell delicious, Isobel.”
“Joy cupcakes.” I gesture to my two dozen cupcakes. They’re carefully arranged on a three-tiered stand, decorated with swirls of white and pink vanilla raspberry frosting with colorful sprinkles. “They offer a hint of joy with each bite.”
I watch as the judges each take one. Without thinking, I grab Lyrion’s hand, squeezing it as I wait on pins and needles for their appraisal.
